The Poet and The Muse
by Timewave Zero
Summary: The story of Thomas Zane and Barbara Jagger.  I do not own Alan Wake.  All characters, lore and settings belong to Remedy Entertainment, with some creative license exercised by the author!  Please enjoy, read and review!
1. Chapter 1

_I gaze upon these waters black, _

_My heart disquiet, no looking back._

_What wonders in this lake do lie_

_That haunt my dreams and catch my eye,_

_And call to me in siren song_

_A magic tune for which I long._

* * *

_The lake it speaks as if alive,_

_And in dark waters I do dive_

_To plunder riches long since gone._

_I wonder then what have I done_

_To make this wonder call to me,_

_What guides my hand and writes a song_

_So that one day it might be free?_

* * *

_For in this lake an evil lay_

_That wakes at night but sleeps by day,_

_Yet calls to me in fever dreams,_

_And haunts my mind so real it seems_

_The world will end should darkness win._

_The devil profits from my sin._

* * *

_If darkness stirs within the lake,_

_What brightness should I then create?_

_My words so formless now hold sway_

_To keep this blackened thing at bay,_

_And stop it from it's evil goal…_

_The price I fear…will be my soul._

* * *

_For there were things I did not know,_

_Beyond this lake I call my home_

_There lay a darker ocean green,_

_With waves both wilder and serene._

_To it's ports I've been._

_To it's ports I've been…_

* * *

It was Emil who first introduced us, and instantly I fell in love. Who wouldn't? The whole town adored her.

Her name was Barbara Jagger. In Bright Falls she was a renowned beauty, and three time winner of the Miss Deerfest pageant. It was hardly surprising given her looks. Living in New York I'd never seen girls half this wonderful. Her hair was a dark rich ebony, her skin pale yet hauntingly beautiful. Her lips were a deep rose red, and her eyes a wide ocean blue. Staring at her I felt I could get lost in her gaze forever.

I was normally so eloquent when it came to penning my words to paper, but faced with the angelic vision before me my mouth could only slur a nervous greeting.

She laughed at my awkwardness, her giggles like the sound of some distant lullaby swept in upon a warm summer breeze. I could smell her perfume. It crept into my nostrils seductively, enticing my senses. She was entirely intoxicating. My whole body felt at once alive and on edge just being in her presence.

"So you're the famous poet then?" she enquired of me.

Her voice was perfect. As she spoke it was if all the angels of heaven had chose this moment to blow their trumpets and play their harps and sing songs celebrating her beauty. I could only stare at her blankly.

Emil spoke on my behalf. "Come now Tom! I'm sorry Miss Jagger, but it seems the famous Mr Zane is for once lost for words."

She smiled again, her eyes examining me; scrutinizing the effaceable poet before her.

"Mr Zane," she spoke again, "You really need not be nervous. It should be me who is in awe of you. I do so love your work. You are an amazing writer."

Finally my tongue remembered how it worked. "Thank you Miss Jagger. It's just that I so rarely meet such a beautiful woman as you."

She blushed and gazed down at her feet. "Mr Zane, you are a flatterer. Are all the men from New York such charmers?"

"I doubt the men of New York have ever encountered someone as lovely as you Miss Jagger. In all the languages in all the world I could not find the words that would do you the justice you deserve. If I were to pen a tale of your beauty, for once I fear I would fail to live up to my reputation."

"You are too kind Mr Zane. But isn't that why you are here? Your reputation I mean. Mr Hartman tells me you cannot write."

I steal a glance at my assistant writer, angered that he should share my inadequacy with such a beautiful woman. "That is…correct. I am residing here in Bright Falls for a while. I hope this wonderful setting will help inspire me."

"Where in our fine town are you staying?"

"I have a cabin out on Cauldron Lake."

Her eyes light up. "Diver's Isle?"

"That's right, Miss Jagger."

"They say the townsfolk named it after you."

I laugh. "Yes I suppose. I often dive in the lake. I find it gives me inspiration."

"I hear the Anderson brothers also found inspiration from that lake."

At the mention of Bright Falls most famous musical duo, Emil interjected. "Now, now Miss Jagger. You know those tales are nonsense. Superstitions and fantasy."

Barbara gazed at me, and I felt like losing myself in her stare. "Is it true Mr Zane? Is the lake really a magic lake?"

"Miss Jagger. There is no such thing as magic," said Emil. But I wasn't listening anymore. I was captivated by this woman. There was something about her that made me want her, desire her. I would do anything for her.

"Miss Jagger," I spoke. "I will tell you all about the lake. Would you care to join me at my cabin one day?"

The beautiful young girl before me turned scarlet. "Is the famous poet asking me out on a date?"

"I…suppose I am." I smiled.

"Then…I will accept. On one condition."

"My wish is your every command."

"Will you write me a poem?"

I laughed, my head spinning; my mind drunk on the wonders of this enchanting woman. "Miss Jagger, I will write you all the poems and tales you could desire."

"Please, call me Barbara."

"I am more than pleased to meet you Barbara," I said, offering my hand.

She placed her hand in mine. "The feeling is more than mutual Thomas Zane."


	2. Chapter 2

_Is she still the one I love?_

_She sank below then rose above_

_That evil lake from whence she came._

_A blackened voice calls Barbara's name,_

_And says her soul has drown._

_

* * *

_

_In the dead of night to my room she crept_

_With darkness in her eyes_

_Wearing a Mourning Gown _

_Sweet words as her disguise._

_

* * *

_

_Her words I would not accept,_

_For her bittersweet tune was laced with lies_

_That spoke of things my mind ignored._

_

* * *

_

_I had thought her life restored_

_My words had bought her back to life._

_

* * *

_

_But in her chest I stick a knife_

_To free me from an evil fate._

_I twist the blade and then I wait…_

_

* * *

_

_This thing my love has now become_

_Has no heart, a hole remains._

_To darkened whims I will not succumb_

_For in my soul is light contained…_

* * *

I walked carefree along the shores of Cauldron Lake, gazing at the waters that at once seemed both calm and tumultuous; a serene bright layer of green hiding a dark and swirling mass below. I had often wondered how such a thing as this lake with all the magic and beauty it bore, could also appear so black and ominous. Such a strange juxtaposition of light and dark. Thoughts for another time perhaps, as today I had more pressing matters on my mind.

I was nervous. My body ached from a constant rush of adrenaline borne from a mix of anxiety and excitement. Barbara was visiting me today.

It had been a few days since our first brief encounter in the diner, but since that fateful meeting the thought of her had never left my mind. I could still not place what it was about her that forced my mind into obsession. Beyond her obvious beauty was an inner brilliance that my entire being ached to experience. I had never felt like this before. It was like I was seeing the world anew; Barbara my magnifying glass that amplified the glory of creation through the beauty of her own soul.

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly…mentally forced my nervous energy into a momentary retreat. I continued my walk along the banks of the lake, content to listen to the lulling sounds of the listless waves and take in the natural beauty of the stunning vistas that surrounded me.

What a truly wonderful place this was. Perhaps I would finally find peace here, away from the big city and finally distanced from all the bullshit of my old life. Perhaps I would finally find my muse, force myself from the paralysing inaction of the debilitating writers block that had been afflicting my once perennial career. There was something about the town of Bright Falls that lifted the creative spirit and inspired magnificent works of art and prose. Legend spoke of Cauldron Lake being magical. Emil certainly believed that to be the case, even if he would never admit it to any one other than myself. And what did I believe? Unlike Emil, I still had my doubts. But in the dead of night, absently gazing through the stained glass of my bedroom window, I'd often fancied I could see the machinations of my days work take form across the far banks of the caldera lake. All manner of mystical beasts and men given life and purpose; gifted of a physical reality and woven into the world from the very fabric of my own imagination.

I briefly wondered then if Barbara was even real, for surely such a woman could only be imagined; a haunting image of perfection etched into the folds of the universe as a testament to a writers vision for love and beauty.

Real or not I would be a fool to pass up an opportunity to spend time with her. The very thought of us together was an intoxicating drug in my mind that demanded an attention and sustenance I longed to give it.

Once more my nervous energy threatened to bubble over; I breathed deeply and began the first steps in a long walk back to Diver's Isle.

* * *

It was nearing midday when I finally arrived at the my cabin. On the path leading in I had encountered Odin Anderson, collecting water from the lake for use in his famous, yet certainly illegal, moonshine. The Anderson Brothers had pertained that their swill was given power by the lake, helping them to craft the magnificent melodies that had shaped them into renowned musical icons.

Fame was a funny thing. I wondered if young Sheriff William Breaker would let the Brothers get away with half their kooky antics if they were regular people. Breaker was a self-professed fan of the arts though, he had always liked my work and was happy to tolerate the Andersons while their prestige helped promote his idyllic mountain town. Breaker and his wife were trying for their first child. I had gladly given him some of my work as an incentive; an early gift for the arrival of his future progeny.

On entering the cabin I made my way to my bedroom, and sat down lazily at my desk. I ran my hands absentmindedly over the sleek black surface of my typewriter, contemplating briefly how much desire I possessed to write again; for some time Emil had been pressuring me. He wanted new work, a fresh new poem or manuscript he could use to help fashion me back into the world dominating literary power I had once been. I breathed deeply and attempted a few paragraphs…but I couldn't do it. My head was fuzzy, my hand's were shaking. My brain felt like it was in a vice. Something unknown had locked away the creative contents of my mind and cruelly hidden the key.

Ah, it was no use! Perhaps I should be content with writing insignificant pieces for Cynthia Weaver and her small town newspaper. I had my doubts though that Emil would find such work to his liking. He constantly chastised me for wasting away my talents on something so trivial as Weaver's gossip columns.

_Why limit yourself Tom? With your creative mind you could shape the very nature of the universe itself! _Emil's words invaded my mind uninvited. _The power you possess is unrivalled! You know why the lake calls to you. You have the majesty of creation at your fingertips! Why do you fear to use it?_

At times I was certain that my assistant writer had been at the Andersons still, such was his un-ending belief that through the magic of Cauldron Lake my works could change the world. Had Odin and Tor changed the world through their creations? Had their music fashioned a new reality for anyone other than themselves? Surely the professed power of this blackened body of water was pure fantasy?

Regardless, it didn't matter. While my writers block persisted I would not be creating anything, be it literal or figurative. My mind once more drifted to Barbara Jagger. In her alone I saw the wonder of the world brought into being; a projection of a glorious reality given magnificent form, a life and beauty unsurpassed. I knew then that no lake, no friend or no town, no matter how idyllic, would help to inspire my life and give it the direction I so desperately sought for it. It would be her. She would be my muse.


End file.
